


To Call A House a Home

by thesolemneyed



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Character Death, Drabble, Gen, Past Character Death, this was going to have more chapters but they fought back and thus i am leaving it as a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolemneyed/pseuds/thesolemneyed
Summary: The house was not empty.Jeonghan had been there for as long as he’d been alive and as long as he had been dead.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	To Call A House a Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is so moody and has entirely stemmed from an exercise i made my students do hehe

The house looked empty. 

The gardens had become overgrown long ago. The boundary walls were crumbling and collapsing in areas, but the grass and trees and bushes grew up so tall that they sheltered the property from curious eyes, creating a sanctuary. The gate at the entrance was well past rusted, well past shrieking a welcome to anyone who dared to enter. Flowering weeds provided a feral beauty and made the whistling wind heady and luxurious. Even on sunny days, the heat didn’t permeate all the way through to the ground and a light dew dusted the grass, hardening to frost in the winter months.

The bricks of the house had taken on a greyish hint over the years, only rising to a dirty auburn at sunset. There was a gaping mouth in one part of the roof where the moss and vines had weighed down the expensive tiling until it collapsed in. The chimney had broken in a storm and left the building looking off-kilter, unbalanced. When the paint on the side door had first started chipping away, it had revealed the glossy oak, but even that had now weathered and faded. The whole building seemed to groan with the effort of staying upright, like a drunk staggering homewards.

Inside felt like wearing one too many layers, a jumper that was slightly too thick. The wood floor had once gleamed from care but now creaked and splintered. The leather skin of the furniture had moved past being cracked, becoming worn and soft, cushioned by layers of dust. Spiderwebs haunted the corners of each room, long abandoned by their hosts, heavy from spinning and re-spinning, wafting in an unfelt breeze like white flags. The rooms smelt like kindling, dry and dangerous.

The house looked empty, but it had not always been that way.

Jeonghan had been born in this house, the eldest son, the jewel of the family. The whole town had celebrated his safe arrival, toasting the family with touches of whiskey to lips. His mother had wrapped him in soft, expensive blankets and murmured hopeful dreams to him. 

He grew up as the angel of the village. The man who delivered the milk always gave his hair a tousle. The woman who made their clothes would slide him tiny delights wrapped in paper behind his governess’ reproachful back. His tutors applauded his keen mind and the wives of the town fawned over his delicate good looks. He learnt to climb trees down near the little stream nearby and he learnt to kiss choirboys crouched in the organ loft. 

Jeonghan’s favourite place in the house were the French windows in the library. Never directly under the gaze of the sun, but stilled warmed by its light, he could while away hours reading from Sappho to Shelley. His favourite was Keats; a well-thumbed copy always propped open on his bedside table.

When Jeonghan went away to school and then to university, he relished his visits home. His favourite trick was throwing open the front door unannounced, laughing out a greeting, and watching his younger sister fly down the stairs in her eagerness to throw her arms around him. He delighted in bringing her small gifts - a fan from Italy, a book in a language neither of them knew, or a warm bun from the bakery in town. She thanked him with equal enthusiasm for all, treating each as if it were the most precious thing in the world simply because it came from her brother.

Jeonghan’s eighteenth birthday was marked by permission to join his father in his study for his after dinner drink. The whiskey had burnt in his throat and nose and the cigar had made his tongue feel mossy, but the privilege of adulthood blossomed in Jeonghan’s chest even after two, three years full of those evenings.

His mother had always insisted on putting him to bed. Even when he grew too old for a bedtime bath and story from his nurse, his mother snuck in to sweep her lips against his eyelids and say a short prayer. Whenever Jeonghan was sick, her kisses were accompanied by cool cloths and her prayers were mixed with soft spoken stories, fairytales really. She only left his side to light candles at church and to brush away frightened tears. 

Jeonghan had died in that house, the eldest son, the jewel of the family. The whole town had mourned his passing, consoling the family with touches of rosaries to lips. His mother had wrapped him in soft, expensive blankets and had murmured ruined dreams to him.

The family had moved soon after that, weighed down by grief and loss. Other inhabitants had come and gone, but none had stayed long. The building had lost its warmth. Something about it felt like looking into a dark well and seeing a pair of eyes reflected back in a different colour.

The house was not empty. 

Jeonghan had been there for as long as he’d been alive and as long as he had been dead. 

He had screamed at his parents for the entirety of his funeral. He was still here; he hadn’t gone anywhere. Of course, that hadn’t stemmed their tears, hadn’t loosened the knots wrapped around their hearts. The sight of his own body in a coffin had made his ears ring. His cheeks were too hollow, his hair too set. His lips which were always quirked into a grin or a smirk were sewn shut, forever. 

He had tried clutching at his sister's sleeves, skirts, hair, anything when they’d moved out. He had pleaded at them not to go, to stay with him. He had tried holding doors shut and ripping wheels off carriages, but none of it had mattered. When his sister had turned for one last look he had tried to catch the tear rolling down her cheek, but it hit the floor nonetheless.

If he could have, Jeonghan would have torn the house down brick by brick. He would have ripped the roof from the rafters, uprooted the foundations, and obliterated any memory of the place he once called home. 

Instead, he had watched new family, new faces come into his house. Some seemed pleasant with round, cheery faces and bright, happy voices. Others brought with them darkness, sadness, heaviness. None of them stayed longer than a year. Even if they couldn’t see Jeonghan watching them, couldn’t feel his feet waiting to trip them up, couldn’t hear the obscenities he flung at them, they could sense the cold distain that the house felt for them. Could feel the anger waiting to watch them fall. 

The house wasn’t empty, but it was lonely. 

It was selfish for Jeonghan to wish death upon anyone, even the most wretched people who slept under his roof. It was selfish, but it didn’t stop him from hoping, especially at first. The stairs down to the kitchen were uneven in a way that was only slightly awkward. It would only take one tray that was a touch too heavy, one mind momentarily distracted; just a quick broken neck, nothing painful. 

As time went on, Jeonghan found himself growing in distain. The man who lived there after thirty years was pleasant enough, but he thought more highly of himself than he ought. The wife three family later looked warm and kind, but had a quick temper and a sharp tongue. The couple who lived there after Jeonghan had begun to lose track of time were both having affairs and seemed to relish lying to one another. Jeonghan wouldn’t choose any of them as his sole companion; he didn’t see why he should have them inflicted upon him. As his anger grew, the temperature in the house dropped and the tenancies shortened. Until, one day, a family moved out and was not replaced. Jeonghan paced and waited and watched as the chain around the gate discoloured and slowly rusted. 

Time passed like molasses. Jeonghan found himself lost in the long, dark stretched of nothing. He didn’t notice the motorbikes that passed, or the telephone poles that sprung up in nearby fields. He didn’t hear planes flying overhead or music blasted from cars. He sank like dust into the building, faded until he wasn’t sure where his edges were any more.

He was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be friends with me on twitter (@thesolemneyed)!


End file.
